


Hero of the Resistance

by philcollins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ben Solo isn't strong with the Force, Ben Solo loves his parents actually, Ben Solo never went to the Dark Side, Ben and Rey are NOT related btw, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Force Sensitivity, Force Training, Luke isn't the jerk he was in the films, Mutual Pining, Non-Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Rey IS strong with the Force however, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sort Of, but plenty of sexy times until then, there is no Kylo Ren actually, we'll get to a good place in the end i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philcollins/pseuds/philcollins
Summary: Rey, our lonely scavenger, meets Han Solo on Jakku when he crashes the Millennium Falcon. He hires her on as second mate and she leaves her lonely life behind for adventures with the old smuggler.She soon meets Han's dashing, charismatic son - Commander Ben Solo, fighter pilot and poster boy of the Resistance. She swoons - hard.But more than having a childish crush on the most eligible pilot in the galaxy, Rey feels a strange and powerful connection to Ben. But a shining star like him would never even notice a big nobody like her, would he?***Set in the worlds of The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi, this diverges in a big way - Ben Solo is not strong with the Force like he is in the films. He never went to be trained as a Jedi, never turned to the Dark Side, and never became Kylo Ren. He's a hero in the Resistance and Force sensitive, like his mother - which is how he knows there's much more to Rey of Jakku than just some desert scav from the backside of nowhere.





	1. The Living Legends

 

When her speeder crests the next rise, she spots a massive piece of space junk at the foot of the dune, crash-landed by the looks of it. It’s a starship but none like she’s ever seen before. It’s round-ish and flat, like a disk, rusty, patched together in a hundred places. No wonder it crashed. But her mouth practically waters as visions dance through her head of the piles of ration portions such a find will earn her.

 

Then all her hopes for bounty are dashed – two figures emerge from the ship, one of them much taller than the other. She pulls out her binoculars to have a look. The tall one is a species she’s never encountered before. He’s furry. Or hairy. Both? It’s hard to tell what he is. The short one is older, his hair gray, his face sewn through with wrinkles. She’s a bit too far to hear but the two seem to be arguing or bickering. The tall one kicks at the sand, seemingly in frustration.

 

She’s not quite sure what to do – go down there to see if they need help? Or leave them be? They don’t look particularly dangerous, but on Jakku one has to assume _everyone and everything_ is dangerous. She has her staff, though, and she knows how to use it. And her gut tells her to go down there.

 

She’s learned over the lonely years to trust her gut above all else. When she doesn’t, that’s when she gets into trouble.

 

When she reaches the bottom of the dune, they’ve obviously spotted her coming and they’re watching her, their hands on their blasters. She stops her speeder a safe distance away and raises her hands, non-threatening, and calls out to them. “Everyone all right?”

 

The older one looks a little confused – maybe not expecting a female voice from behind the goggles and scarf. “All fine. Thanks,” he says.

 

She takes off her goggles and unwraps the scarf from around her head and now the older man and the hairy giant glance at each other. Definitely not expecting a female. “Did you crash, then?”

 

“ _Crashed_? Lady, I’ve _never_ crashed.” The hairy...one makes an alarming noise, a whiny sort of bellow, and the older man shoots him (her? it?) a look. “No, I have not,” he snaps at the hairy giant.

 

The hairy giant bellows again.

 

“That time doesn’t count,” the man grumbles. She bites back a grin at that. To her, he says, “I’ve never crashed, okay?”

 

“Really? Because it looks like that piece of junk would be lucky to get off the ground at all,” she says.

 

“Piece of junk? Lady, that’s the Millennium Falcon you’re talking about! Show a little respect.”

 

Her grin goes away when her mouth falls open. “The ship that made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs?”

 

“Twelve. Twelve parsecs.”

 

“You’re _Han Solo_? The smuggler?”

 

The old man grins wryly, a little tiredly maybe. “Used to be.”

 

“Holy bantha shit...” she breathes, wowed. A living legend standing twenty feet away from her in the middle of nowhere – she can’t believe it. “What are you doing on _Jakku_?”

 

“Well I sure as hell didn’t mean to end up here. Who would.”

 

“So you crashed.”

 

“ _No_! Mechanical problem. We had to put down before the whole damn ship exploded.”

 

She frowns, thinking that over quickly. “Exploded? What was it, a faulty motivator?”

 

Han Solo glances at his hairy companion again. “Uh, yeah. How did you--”

 

“Repairable?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“So you’ll need a new one.”

 

“Any chance you know where we can find one around here?” he asks, looking around the empty, barren desert surrounding them. He’s being ironic, she thinks. Making a joke.

 

“Yes, actually, I do.”

 

Han Solo’s eyebrow goes up. “Oh yeah, kid? Where?”

 

“From me,” she says plainly. “But it’ll cost you.”

 

“How much?”

 

She has no idea. She knows how many food rations it would earn her, on a good day. But she wants actual money, not rations. “A thousand credits.”

 

“Done.”

 

Dammit. She totally under-sold that, didn’t she?

 

***

 

She returns two hours later from her AT-AT shelter with the new-used motivator in her sack. But she approaches the Millennium Falcon and its two-man crew very cautiously, acutely aware they could just shoot her with their blasters and take the motivator off her corpse.

 

“You have the credits ready for transfer?” she asks, staying close to her speeder.

 

Han Solo holds up a datapad and steps closer, holding it out. She takes the datapad, sees what she needs to see. She hands it back.

 

“Don’t worry, kid, I’m not gonna shoot you and steal it from you, okay?” he says, apparently reading her thoughts.

 

She eyes him critically, mulling. She’s wary, yes, but her gut is saying she can trust him. She reaches into her bag and takes out the part in question, holds it in her hands so he can see.

 

“Where’d you get that, anyway?”

 

“Salvaged it off an R5 unit I found in a freight hauler.”

 

“You know how to install one of those?”

 

“I do,” she says, nodding. “An extra thousand credits and I’ll do it for you.”

 

Han Solo gives her a look. She knows a thousand is a lot for labor costs, and she knows Han Solo knows it, too, but she’s got to try to make up for undercutting herself before.

 

But then Han Solo reaches out a hand to her and says simply, “Deal.”

 

She takes his hand, shakes it. A curious feeling seems to move up her arm and fill her with a comfortable warmth. It makes her smile.

 

“What’s your name, kid?” he asks.

 

“Rey.”

 

“Rey what?”

 

“Just Rey.”

 

***

 

The hairy one is called Chewie and he (pretty sure he’s a he) lies on the deck above her head and hands down the tools she needs as she works to get the old motivator out and the new one in. She suspects either one of these guys could’ve done this rather easily – there are so many patches and repairs down here. The two of them seem to have been keeping this ship alive for _decades_ with whatever bits and pieces they’ve found across the galaxy.

 

She’s done soon enough and Chewie gives her a furry hand, hauls her up out of the compartment. He leads her to the cockpit, where Han is sitting in the captain’s seat, his datapad in his lap.

 

“All done?” he asks.

 

“All done.”

 

“All righty, then.” He touches the datapad and she watches two thousand credits move into her account. She’s never had two thousand credits. She’s never had a hundred credits. She’s _rich_.

 

Transfer complete, Han sets the datapad aside and starts flipping some of the controls. Starting up the ship, she realizes.

 

“Thanks very much, Mr. Solo,” she says, nodding, taking a step back. “It was really nice to meet you. Good luck out there.”

 

“Well wait a minute, kid. We gotta see if your repair job works.”

 

She tries to process what he’s saying, standing there mutely like some dummy. “It works.”

 

Han Solo looks back at her. “You ever been off Jakku?”

 

She tries not to fidget. “Not since I came here.”

 

“And when was that?”

 

“When I was a kid.”

 

“You _are_ a kid, kid.”

 

“I don’t know how old I was,” she says flatly, embarrassed.

 

There’s something soft and sad in the old man’s blue eyes now. “Let’s take this piece of junk for a spin, huh? Sit there,” he says, nodding to the co-pilot’s chair. Chewie makes a disgruntled sound behind her. Han nods again, ignoring him. “Go on.”

 

She practically leaps over the armrest to get into the co-pilot’s chair. She’s not embarrassed or proud enough to refuse a joyride in the Millennium Falcon. She’s only been dreaming of going to space her _whole damn life_.

 

***

 

She got drunk once, accidentally. Someone traded with her for a canteen of what was supposed to be jogan fruit juice. It was _fermented_ jogan fruit juice. Luckily she was in the safety of her own hut when she drank it. And got rip-roaringly smashed.

 

This? Flying through space? In a legend _with_ a legend? Nothing at all like getting drunk. It feels like the opposite. It’s all so clear and vivid – like every cell in her body and every atom in the ship and every particle in space are tuned to the same frequency and singing a song inside her body.

 

She’s grinning ear-to-ear by the time Han returns to a low orbit around Jakku. She even whoops out loud, which is really embarrassing. Han Solo slaps her on the shoulder and laughs. “Well,” he says, “Seems like it works, huh?”

 

“I said it would, didn’t I,” she says.

 

He smiles. “Good job, Rey from Jakku.”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Solo.”

 

“Call me Han.”

 

“All right,” she says, then adds, “Not that I’ll ever see you guys again after we land and I go back to my life and you fly off to more adventures.”

 

“Mm, adventures,” he hums.

 

“This was great, though. Thank you.”

 

“Y’know... I've been thinkin' about bringing on some more crew, Rey. A second mate. Someone to help out, someone who can keep up with Chewie and me. Someone who appreciates the Falcon.”

 

She stares at him, dumbfounded. “Are you offering me a _job_?”

 

“I wouldn't be nice to you,” he warns. He’s so full of hot air, she knows – even though she hardly knows him. “And it doesn't pay much.”

 

She looks out the wide windows in front of her – looks out at the beige dirtball that is Jakku, at the inky vastness of space and the brightly shining stars beyond. She thinks of that warm feeling she got when she shook Han’s hand before – how, in some weird way, she felt instinctively she could trust him. She thinks of her parents, people she doesn’t know, hardly remembers, people who left her alone on that dirtball.

But they’re coming back for her one day, she tells herself in a familiar refrain. They’re coming back for her one day. They’re coming back for her one day.

 

But her gut tells her something different.

 

Her gut’s been telling her something different for _years_.

 

She just never had a way off that beige dirtball before now.

 

“Deal,” she hears herself saying. She sees herself sticking out her hand. She sees Han Solo take her hand and shake it again, firmly. She gets that familiar, comfortable feeling again.

 

This feels right, her gut says. This is where we belong, her gut hums, pleased.

 

***

 

Han asks if she wants to go back down to Jakku to pack up anything, take it with her. She thinks about it for a moment. She has her staff and a few little things in her sack, things she always carries like a first aid kit and water purification tablets. If she goes back down to the surface, she might change her mind and stay there.

 

“No, I’m good to go,” she says.

 

So off they go.

 

Chewie takes back his co-pilot’s chair and Han tells her where to find a blanket and how to find her new quarters. “Take thirty minutes, kid, get situated. Then I got a to-do list for you to start on.”

 

She finds the blanket, finds the appointed quarters at the end of a corridor. It’s small, just a narrow bunk, some built-in drawers under that, and enough floor space to turn around in. It has a window, though, which is amazing, seeing the star out there. But it’s strange – as soon as she steps into the room, it’s like she _knows_ it. Not like it’s _her_ room, not like she’s been here before, but like something that’s hers was in this room and now it’s not here. It’s hard to explain, the feeling. But it wraps around her like a warm embrace, welcoming her.

 

She puts her staff in the corner, puts her few belongings in a drawer, and spreads the blanket on the bed. She sits on the mattress, then lies down and watches the stars zip by. There are several little decals stuck around the edges of the window – colorful little pictures of various starfighters. She smiles, touching them with her finger, naming them all in her head. T-65B X-Wing. A/SF-01 B-Wing. T-47 Airspeeder. UT-60D U-Wing. E-50 Landseer. A few more. She’s flown all of these starfighters before – in the simulator she built in her AT-AT.

 

But maybe now...maybe now she’ll get a chance to fly a starship for real. Though perhaps not a starfighter like these decals. Who knows.

 

An immense feeling washes over her. For the first time ever, her future feels open. Limitless. And it’s almost making her cry.

 

***

 

She gets started on Han’s to-do list. It includes scrubbing out the commode, which is...shocking. She’s never lived with other people. With _men_. This might take a bit of getting used to.

 

Later, cleaning out a storage bay, reorganizing it as best she can, she finds something unusual – paper. She’s seen paper before but only a couple of times. This is a couple dozen small sheets rolled up and hidden inside a metal box with some tools and rags. She unrolls the sheets to see what they are.

 

_“The Resistance needs YOU. Join today. See the galaxy!”_

And there’s something she’s seen before – the emblem of the Resistance. Recruitment fliers. She reckons that’s why they’re hidden in this toolbox – in case some hostile party were to board and search the Falcon. Politics had no place in her life on Jakku – day in and day out was about survival and that’s it – but even she knows the Resistance isn’t the strongest force patrolling the galaxy these days. It could be dangerous to be seen with these.

 

What really captures her attention, however, is the picture printed on the page. It’s a man, older than her but still youthful. He’s wearing an orange jacket with the Resistance emblem on it, unzipped a bit, showing smooth chest and the chain of dogtags around his neck. His hair is lovely, dark and wavy and shiny and longish. His eyes are pretty for a man – she’s never seen such warm, dark eyes. They shine bright, even on this piece of paper. His nose is a bit big but nicely formed and she likes it. He’s smiling wide, his soft lips together but the smile so friendly and earnest and kind and showing charming dimples in his lean face.

 

She stares at the picture, entirely captivated. She’s never seen such a man before. He’s so _healthy-looking_. His skin is clear, not pockmarked or scabby or burned. She can see thick muscle hiding under his orange top. He probably has all his own teeth and even eats real meat. He’s _beautiful_.

 

At the bottom of the page, it says, “ _Ben Solo, Fighter Pilot”._

Wow. Just...wow. She can practically _feel_ the stars in her eyes.

 

Could this be Han’s son? Must be. She can almost see a resemblance – _almost_. Mostly something in the eyes and the smile – the same sort of fun-loving mischievousness and charm she’s glimpsed in Han Solo.

 

She can see why they put this young man on a recruitment paper. Son of a living legend, fighter pilot, no doubt already a war hero, dark and dashing and more handsome than is right and proper. He could recruit the pants off just about anyone in the galaxy, she reckons. Hellfire, she’s ready to join up right now, if it means she’ll get the chance to fly with him.

 

She rolls up the rest of the fliers, hides them back in the toolbox. The one she pulled out, she folds up, careful not to fold over his face, and tucks it into her tunic. She wants to look at it again later. She’d like to stick it up next to her bunk, on the window with the decals – the fighter pilot with the starfighters. But, again, it could be risky – even if it’s only the risk that Han might see it there. How embarrassing would that be? No, she’ll keep it on her person, safe inside her clothes.

 

Then it occurs to her – maybe she _will_ get to meet Ben Solo. Han’s son? It seems highly possibly.

 

Maybe they’re already on their way to where this man is.

 

_Cripes_.

 

Her face gets hot.

 

 

 

TBC


	2. The Commander

Wherever Ben Solo is, they don’t go there. And despite what Han said when she first met him, he _is_ still a smuggler. Apparently, Han and Chewie were on their way to another system in the Western Reaches to pick up a large, flat wooden crate – in the middle of the night, in a back alleyway. She helps Han and Chewie stow it in a hidden compartment under the deck grating in the storage bay.

 

“What’s in it?” she asks, screwing back down the grating.

 

“The less you know the better, kid.”

 

That ends up becoming a bit of a pattern – picking up something, stowing it, not being told what it is. She likes to try to guess.

 

But she ends up not caring what’s in the flat wooden crate when they take it to a posh resort island on a water world. She never imagined there could be so much water. She never imagined there could be a whole planet covered in water. It’s amazing and terrifying. She takes off her shoes and sits on the edge of the landing pad and puts her feet in the water, kicking and splashing in delight. Until she feels something brush against her ankle. Out she gets.

 

Not every place they go is as nice as the water world. Some places are literal garbage dumps. But she doesn’t care – seeing something, _anything_ , other than endless sand dunes and desert is terrifically exciting.

 

It gets a bit _too_ exciting the very first time she’s allowed to accompany Han and Chewie on a deal. Things go sideways pretty quick with a local ionite dealer and Han and Chewie have to draw their blasters. Shots are exchanged. She contributes with her staff, knocking out cold a couple of the dealer’s burly guards. It’s a real tight spot and they lose the ionite, don’t get paid. But they’re not get killed, at least.

 

“I’m gettin’ too old for this,” Han says, breathing hard, when they’re safely inside the Falcon and taking off. He glances back at her. “Good job, kid. Who taught you how to fight?”

 

“Jakku,” she says.

 

After that, Han gives her a blaster of her own and teaches her how to use it. She picks it up pretty quickly, impressing Han, she thinks, with her target shooting. She even impresses Chewie, though he’s even harder to read than Han sometimes. She prefers her staff but she starts carrying the blaster, as well, whenever they leave the ship. She straps the blaster to her thigh like Han does and feels like a bit of a badass.

 

But things get _really_ hairy when a First Order patrol comes upon them and gives chase on Fromia T-VI. Chewie takes the controls and Rey sits in Han’s seat, acting as co-pilot, while Han disappears down into gunner’s nest to blast away at the patrol ship as they make their escape off-planet. The patrol ship manages to get a few hits in, taking out one of their plasma vents, which means they won’t be able to engage the hyperdrive unless it’s fixed. Han keeps blasting and Chewie does his fanciest flying while Rey leaps into action to bypass the damaged vent and reroute the plasma exhaust so they don’t blow up – and so they can jump to lightspeed.

 

The pressure gauge is deep in the red and she estimates she has about two seconds left before they explode into vapor. She gets what she hopes are the proper wires soldered together and shouts at Chewie – “Hit it!”

 

Chewie hits it and she holds her breath – there’s still a very strong possibility of instant vaporization. But they don’t vaporize. Her patch works, they jump to lightspeed, and escape the system and the patrol ship.

 

“What exploded?” Han asks, coming back to the cockpit. Rey gives him back his seat.

 

“Plasma vent,” she reports. “The patch will hold for now but we’ll need to repair it properly. _Soon_.”

 

He nods. “All right. Chewie, let’s go home.”

 

Chewie hollers, acknowledging and setting a course.

 

“Home? What, Corellia?” she asks. Han had mentioned a couple weeks ago that he grew up there.

 

“No, no. I haven’t been on Corellia in years.”

 

“Where then?”

 

Han twists around to look at her. He studies her for a long moment, like he’s wondering if he can tell her or not. Which is silly. “Unless you plan on shunting me out the garbage shoot or blindfolding me the whole time, I’m going to see wherever it is, so you might as well tell me now,” she argues.

 

Chewie makes a noise she hasn’t heard from him yet – she thinks it’s a laugh.

 

Han asks, “You’ve heard of the Resistance?”

 

“We’re going to the Resistance?” Her stomach starts to flutter.

 

Han nods. “To our base on D’Qar.”

 

She briefly, unintentionally, touches her tunic where the folded Ben Solo recruitment flier is tucked away. She’s been carrying it there since the day she found it, taking it out and looking at it at least once a day, when she’s alone.

 

“You’re _in_ the Resistance?” she asks, not wholly surprised. She certainly assumed Han and Chewie were, or are, sympathetic to the Resistance, if not actually a part of it.

 

“We are.”

 

“Is that what we’ve been doing all this time? Raising funds for the Resistance?”

 

“It is.” Han raises an eyebrow. “That okay with you, kid?”

 

The recruitment flier seems to burn under her clothes. “Fine by me.”

 

***

 

Han and Chewie steer the Falcon through the wide, rocky ring that surrounds D’Qar and they head down to the green surface. The base is well-situated in this part of the galaxy – in the Outer Rim, far from most space lanes and trading routes and inhabited planets. She has a hard time spotting the base at first – it’s in the middle of thick jungle. But when she does see something, she’s a little disappointed, not even sure it _is_ a base.

 

“Is that it?” It doesn’t look like much – a bit of tarmac and a few workers on the ground.

 

“Most of the base is underground. The ships are lowered or pulled into the hangers.”

 

The Falcon lands but they don’t disembark – the tarmac sinks beneath them, lowering them into the bowels of the base. It’s much bigger underground, indeed, full of people and whizzing droids going to and fro. But still – there seem to be few starfighters down here. Maybe they’re stationed at a different base?

 

They disembark and, coming down the ramp, Rey spots a short, elegantly-dressed woman, her graying hair twisted up elaborately, waiting for them. Rey isn’t sure who she is, but something about the way the lady is standing there, the way a couple of officers in uniforms stand just behind her, gives Rey the impression this lady is in charge here.

 

Chewie reaches her first and engulfs the elegant lady in his long, hairy arms. The lady smiles and hugs him back. And then Han is in front of her, the two of them sharing some kind of secret smile for a moment before they wrap their arms around each other and kiss deeply.

 

But when Han and the elegant lady, likely his wife, come up for air, the lady’s calm gaze lands on Rey. Rey considers how this might look to the older woman – her husband arriving home after a long time away with some young gal now in tow.

 

But then the lady says, “The girl I’ve heard so much about,” and holds out her hand. Rey stumbles forward, surprised, and takes the woman’s hand, shakes it. She gets the same sense she had when she shook Han’s hand for the first time, maybe a bit stronger – like this is someone she can trust. The woman smiles warmly at her, welcoming. “Rey of Jakku.”

 

Rey smiles back. Rey of Jakku – it sounds so much grander than it is. “Just Rey,” she says.

 

“I’m Leia. Han’s told me a lot about you,” the woman says, and then gives Han a wry look. “But not everything.”

 

Han holds out his hands, all innocence. “What?”

 

“You didn’t tell me she was so pretty, you old dog.”

 

Rey can feel her face go red hot. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that--” she sputters, mortified.

 

The elegant lady – Leia – still holding her hand, pats it gently. “I know, dear. Don’t worry, I’m just giving him a hard time.” Leia looks at her another long moment, something knowing in her warm eyes, and pats her hand again. “I’m glad to meet you, Rey.”

 

“Thank you,” she says, relieved. “I'm glad to meet you, too.”

 

“General,” one of the uniformed officers interrupts, stepping forward. Leia lets go of her hand and turns to the office. _General_ Leia, then. A lady general, that’s amazing. “The squadron is headed in now,” the officer finishes.

 

“Good.” Leia nods and then looks at Rey again. “Rey? Would you like to join us up top, see them in?”

 

Rey hardly knows what to say – a _general_ inviting her, just some scav, along to _anywhere_? “I’d love that,” she manages to say.

 

Back up on the tarmac, Rey stands with Chewie and the uniformed companions behind Leia and Han and they all watch the squadron enter the atmosphere. Rey stares up, shielding her eyes against the sun, delighted and amazed at seeing all these X-Wings coming down in perfect formation. The noise is amazingly loud as they land, kicking up a storm as they touch down.

 

The ground crew rush in, hurrying to each ship to help the pilots and droids disembark. Pulling off their helmets, striding across the tarmac together in their matching orange flight suits, the pilots make an impressive sight, like something out of Rey’s daydreams back on Jakku. Her eyes eagerly scan the pilots as they approach, looking for one in particular. He’s not hard to spot.

 

Ben Solo is at least a head taller than all the others and at the very center of their pack, like he’s their leader. His hair is even glossier than in the picture she’s memorized, and it’s brushed back beautifully like there are combs inside his helmet or something. She used to have an old pilot’s helmet on Jakku, just something she put on to amuse herself – and her hair was always a sweaty, flattened disaster whenever she pulled it off. His perfect hair is now longer than in the picture – that must’ve been an old rendering. His wide smile and bright eyes are just the same, though, and grab her attention. She can’t stop staring at him, overwhelmed, her stomach flip-flopping like mad.

 

Ben Solo in the flesh? Even more of a _wow_.

 

The pilots gather in front of Leia and their little welcoming party and Leia greets them with a few words of praise and thanks for their safe return and successful mission. The squadron salutes her and go on their merry way inside the base.

 

Except for Ben Solo, who comes closer and flings his arms around Leia in a big hug, picking her up a little, making her laugh and smack at his arms.

 

But over Leia’s shoulder, Ben Solo’s eyes snap right to Rey like a magnet and she gets goosebumps, like he’s just touched her. There’s something...intense in his gaze. Nothing unpleasant, but somehow unnerving, somehow _knowing_.

 

Her insides flip over again, harder.

 

Ben lets go of his mother and turns to his father, repeating the display with Han, too – including lifting up the smaller, older man.

 

It charms Rey, seeing the three of them together, this beautiful and happy family. It makes her a little sad inside, too, and longing. It’s something she’ll never have, a family like this.

 

The only one here taller than Ben Solo is Chewie, and the two of them hug tightly, thumping each other on the back vigorously – trying to prove who’s toughest, no doubt.

 

And then.

 

And then.

 

And then the man she’s been staring at a picture of for the past month is standing _right in front of her_ , towering over her a bit, that intense and curious look in his dark eyes. Han is introducing them, she realizes. “Ben, this is the Falcon’s new second mate, Rey. Rey, this is my son, Commander Ben Solo.”

 

Commander Ben Solo sticks out his hand and smiles. His hand is _huge_. “Hi, Rey, I’m Ben.”

 

“I-I know,” she stutters and takes his hand, his closing around hers, making it disappear.

 

And the strangest feeling rips through her when they touch. It’s not at all like the warm, welcoming feeling she had when she shook hands with Han and Leia. No, she’s suddenly, very briefly – just for the _briefest_ of moments – not on the tarmac on the Resistance base, but somewhere else entirely, somewhere...she doesn’t _know_ where. _Somewhere else_. And Ben’s with her, the two of them side-by-side there. But more than just standing together – side-by-side in _everything_. Somehow. She can’t explain it but it’s so clear and real.

 

It’s the most powerful, most disorienting feeling and it startles her entirely. She lets go of his hand and feels like she did the time she accidentally touched a live wire when she was repairing her speeder. She was thrown backwards ten feet and landed flat on her back in the sand, breathless, her heart thudding erratically. That’s how she feels now – flattened, breathless, heart racing, _confused_.

 

“Rey what?” Ben Solo is asking, still smiling like nothing strange just happened. Nothing _did_ happen – it’s just her hormonal imagination running amok.

 

She swallows, tries to find her voice again. “Just Rey.”

 

“Just Rey, huh?”

 

“I’m sleeping in your room,” she blurts out suddenly, loudly, and she doesn’t even know why. And now Ben Solo, his mother, and his father are looking at her like she’s just flashed her tits at them. She hears what she’s just said. _Bantha shit_. “ _I mean_ \--I mean in the Falcon. The Millennium Falcon.”

 

“I’ve heard of it,” he says wryly, his eyes dancing in amusement. She wants to _die_.

 

“I think I’m sleeping in your old bunk. Is what I meant. Are those your decals on the window?”

 

“Yes!” He laughs, but it sounds friendly enough, happy. “I loved collecting those damn things when I was a kid.”

 

She smiles up at him, liking the sound of his laugh, intoxicated by his rich voice. “Which--which was your favorite ship?” she asks shyly.

 

“Had to be the X-Wing, of course,” he answers, jerking his dark head back towards his real-life X-Wing, looming large on the tarmac.

 

“See, I prefer the T-47 Airspeeder,” she says.

 

His eyebrows go up. “Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah, it handles better in low altitude dogfights. The gyrometer doesn’t get as much electromagnetic interference so it’s more stable.”

 

His eyebrows somehow get higher still, his strangely beautiful face an absolute picture of amazement. “That’s...that’s true, it is.” His lips are twitching. “You’ve been in a lot of low altitude dogfights, have you?”

 

“Only on my flight simulator,” she says, feeling dumb now. He’s a _real_ pilot, he’s flown _real_ ships in _real_ dogfights, and she’s a child who played video games. She tries to salvage it with, “I built myself a simulator back on Jakku so I could learn to fly. But I haven’t actually.”

 

He nods. And then says, winking, “Not _yet_.”

 

“Not yet,” she parrots faintly, hoping like hell he can’t actually see the tiny hearts swirling around her head right now.

 

His considerable attention is then drawn away when someone calls out his name. He raises a hand to whoever it is. “Be right there, buddy!” he calls back and then looks to her again. “Well, good to meet you, Just Rey. See you around, huh?”

 

And then he’s striding away to join his buddy, a short male pilot with a swarthy complexion and dark, wavy hair. The two head into the hanger and even though she knows Han and Leia are watching her, probably _highly_ amused, she can’t help but stare after Commander Ben Solo, the brightest star in the galaxy. She sighs, completely bowled over.

 

She feels Han clap her on the shoulder. “Yeah, he has that effect on people, kiddo.”

 

 

TBC.


	3. The Clearing

 

Life on the base, with all these people, is...different. There’s so much _food_. Food for everyone three times a day! Amazing. There are commodes and freshers just for the women – no more sharing with extremely hirsute males with prolific bowels!

 

She’s given an ID badge with her photo and name on it. It says “Rey” and that’s it. She’s never seen a photo of herself before – it’s very odd, for some reason.

 

She’s given a bunk in a room with three other gals, who are _nice_ to her, not trying to steal her stuff any chance they get.

 

And she’s made to see a real live medic – that’s almost the first thing Leia has her do, see the doctor for a full check up. She’s never seen a real live _human_ doctor and she never had the money to see a med droid on Jakku the handful of times she injured herself or got sick.

 

The doctor’s determination is swift. “Well, you’re in good health, generally speaking, but still a bit malnourished.” This doesn’t surprise Rey. “That’s why your menstrual cycle is so sporadic. I’m giving you a prescription for a vitamin-enriched, high-calorie diet. I’m sending it to the kitchen manager right now. Just show them your ID badge and they’ll sort you out at meal times, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m going to give you an immunity shot, that will cover you for pretty much any infection or virus you’re likely to encounter, here or anywhere else. Do you want a contraceptive shot at the same time?”

 

“A what?”

 

The doctor gives her a funny look. “A contraceptive. So you don’t get pregnant once your cycle normalizes.”

 

Rey feels her face grow hot. “Oh. Uh. That’s probably not necessary, I don’t really, y’know... I mean, I don’t _ever_. I haven’t ever. So I won’t need that.”

 

The doctor stares at her. “Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean you won’t. You might snag yourself a nice trainee officer or something, who knows.”

 

Her thoughts flick immediately not to some trainee officer but to the most eligible, handsome commander in the galaxy. Not that she would have _any_ _idea_ what to do with him if she ever “snagged” him. Play cards and whittle and fix engines, most likely.

 

“No reason not to. It can be reversed later, when you do want to have children,” the doctor says reasonably.

 

The idea of having children some day has _literally_ never occurred to her until now. She’s still a child herself, she would say if asked. Lord knows there weren’t any men on Jakku she ever imagined touching with a ten foot pole, let alone doing _that_ with. Yuck. She can’t imagine doing _that_ with anyone, to be honest – it seems such a foreign concept.

 

And yet...

 

She can’t shake the strange memory of that intense feeling she got when she shook Ben Solo’s hand. Buried deep in that feeling, she finds...possibility.

 

“Okay,” she tells the doctor.

 

***

 

She’s gotten the port side vent panel off and is lying on top of the Falcon’s fuselage, her head and torso dangling down into the bowels of the ship, her ass sticking up in the air. And that’s when she feels it – Commander Ben Solo crouched right behind her, the heat of his body radiating onto her like a furnace.

 

She gasps, startled, and jerks upward, banging her head on a conduit. She twists and wriggles, pushes herself upright, and looks behind.

 

He’s not there.

 

No one’s there, she’s alone on top of the ship. She rubs the throbbing spot on back of her head, confused.

 

But then she sees him – on the other side of the hanger, striding in, smiling and greeting a few of the ground crew and sanitation workers gathered there. He says something to them – she can’t hear what from this distance – and the others laugh at whatever joke he’s just told. He laughs, too, and continues on, heading for the Falcon.

 

She kneels on the fuselage, watching him approach. He looks amazing – which is standard for him, obviously. Perfect hair. Wearing a clingy ribbed tunic, the sleeves pushed up to show his arms, the neck unbuttoned and showing some smooth chest and the chain of his dogtags, just like in the picture she’s still carrying around in her clothes, now made vividly real. (She reckons she should probably put that picture somewhere else now.) He wears a tight-fitting dark blue vest buttoned over the tunic, the Resistance emblem stitched on it, and form-fitting trousers with a red stripe down the side of each leg. She thinks this might be part, but not all, of his uniform. It shows off his remarkable body very well – his broad chest and shoulders, his corded forearms and solid biceps, his firm belly and his thick, strong thighs. Even the hefty bulge at the front of his trousers.

 

Lord almighty. How does anyone get anything done around here, with him walking around looking _that_?

 

If he looks up, he’ll see her on top of the ship here. But in a way she hopes he won’t look up, she hopes he’ll just keep on going, walk by. She’s never been particularly shy and retiring, but Ben Solo does mad things to her. He makes her bashful and hardly able to string two intelligent words together and decide to get a contraceptive.

 

But he does look up. Right at her. He smiles and gives her a jaunty salute. “Howdy, Just Rey.”

 

She raises her hand and salutes back, mimicking him. “Commander Solo.”

 

“No need for all that. Just _Ben_ ,” he says and then laughs, hearing himself. “ _Just Ben_ – get it?”

 

She laughs at his dumb joke because she can’t help it. And then he alarms her when he jogs up to the moveable metal stairs she used to get on the ship. He climbs up to the top but he stays on the stairs, leaning on the railings and looking at her from there. “So where’ve you been hiding yourself, Just Rey?”

 

Well she _hasn’t_ been hiding. He’s just been too busy to notice her, more like. “Just working.”

 

“You settling in all right?”

 

“Yeah. It’s great here.”

 

“You’re from Jakku, right?”

 

He doesn’t say it like most everyone says it when it comes up, including herself. _Jakku –_ like they’re horrified or laughing, like the place is beyond disdainful. “Yeah.”

 

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”

 

Now, she is highly disinclined to tell anyone much about her time on Jakku, to be quite honest. But to him, she says eagerly, “S-s-sure. Anytime.”

 

“You seen the old man around?”

 

“I think he’s with your mother. In her quarters.”

 

His very expressive face twists up and he gives a big shiver. “Bloody hell... My eyes, Just Rey, _my eyes_!” She laughs again and he gives her a wink.

 

His eyes, in fact, are the color of cinnamon spiced caf, but richer, lusher, and warmer. She can feel herself falling into his gaze and she thinks about suggesting he stay right here and whittle with her while he waits for Han.

 

Instead, she says, “If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him,” like a normal person.

 

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” he says casually and her body thrills all over. He slaps the top of the fuselage. “All right, well, don’t be a stranger, Just Rey.”

 

And then he’s sliding down the railings like a total hotshot and striding out of the hanger with a final wave, taking the sun and the moon and the stars along with him.

 

***

 

When she does see him around the base – in the canteen eating with his pilot friends, making instrumentation adjustments in his X-Wing cockpit, at the far end of a corridor talking to a pretty young female officer – she has the strangest feeling, every time. Even if she doesn’t see him right away, it’s like she can _feel_ whenever he’s near or coming into the room. Feel it _physically_ , like he’s stood up against her – the way she felt on top of the Falcon.

 

But she’s not special – _everyone_ looks when he enters a room, _everyone_ notices his presence (or lack thereof). The sun shines brightest on whomever he’s talking to at any given moment. Her three bunk mates – sweet sisters Rose and Paige, and Leslie, a tall, rowdy radar technician who loves muffins – gossip about Ben frequently, even though Rose has a nice boyfriend, Finn. Leslie is fond of saying, “Girl, I would bend that white boy over my knee and teach him who’s boss around here, I’ll tell you what!” Even Ben’s pilot buddy, Poe Dameron, seems to have hearts in his eyes whenever Ben’s around.

 

So she’s just feeling the power of his tremendous personality, his magnetism, his charisma. He’s the hero of the Resistance, the son of not one but _two_ legends, and a literal prince (she learns this from her bunkmates).

 

She feels embarrassed now that she got that contraceptive with him in mind. As if he’ll _ever_ look at her that way.

 

She works hard to remind herself of these facts whenever his sun shines upon her – so she doesn’t end up getting burned.

 

***

 

She gets up early one morning after feeling restless all night. She’s not used to being indoors so much, being enclosed. And being around so many people all the time. She doesn’t miss Jakku, no, and she doesn’t miss the aching loneliness there. She likes meeting these new people and making new friends. But she can’t help it – she’s just more accustomed to the open desert and a solitary existence than the confines of crowded concrete corridors. She just needs a little breathing space, just for a few minutes. So she gets dressed, ties back her hair, and takes her staff, slipping up to the surface.

 

She walks into the jungle that surrounds the base and is soon sweating for it – it’s muggy and hot, even this early in the day. But the jungle is beautiful, so verdant, so _green_ , so alive. She can hear birds and insects singing all sorts of songs in the trees. Dew drips down from the leaves.

 

She comes to a grassy clearing. Like the trees, the grass is still dewy. It smells fresh and clean under her shoes. She breathes in deeply, already feeling a bit better.

 

She takes her staff off her shoulder and hefts it in her hands. She hasn’t had the chance to practice with her staff since leaving Jakku – or the space. Now she has both.

 

She twirls the staff around in her hands and starts off slowly, getting the feel of it again. But soon enough her muscles are warmed up and remembering what to do and she whirls the staff around, whirls herself around, thrusting and swinging in a familiar series of moves – a routine she’s been practicing and adding to and changing and refining for years in the desert.

 

Her mind clears and calms whenever she practices, and it’s the same now. She feels connected to everything, like she’s everywhere at once, watching herself from the outside while still inside her body and feeling her muscles burn, feeling her heart thud, feeling her lungs work.

 

But then – there’s something pulling her out, disturbing her peace, pressing against her.

 

She spins around with a fierce shout, staff raised and ready to strike, ready to fight off intruders.

 

“It’s just me,” Ben Solo says quietly, calmly, his hands raised a little, showing them empty and harmless.

 

But he’s not _entirely_ harmless, is he? No.

 

Because he’s half-naked. Stripped to the waist. Impossibly broad chest heavy with muscle and slick with sweat. Loose black training trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips. The front of his long hair tied back. Face sweaty, flushed. Staring at her.

 

She’s never seen anyone so...

 

She doesn’t even know how to finish that thought. He’s just _so_ _much_.

 

“What--what’re you doing here?” she gasps, lowering her staff. Her heart’s thumping and she breathes hard, her blood still up. Her gut, fed by a life alone in a hostile place full of hostile men, is telling her to _run_. She ignores it.

 

“I saw you through the trees,” he says. “I was out for a run.”

 

“You could run on the machines in the training room,” she points out.

 

“And you could do _that_ in the training room, too,” he answers, nodding at her staff and grinning a little. “But you needed to get out, right?”

 

She nods. “For a bit.”

 

“Yeah. It gets a little _tight_ in there.”

 

“Yeah.” What she doesn’t tell him is that it’s been his overwhelming presence making it _tight_ in there for her, as much as anything else really. And now he’s here and has so much _skin_ and it’s hard to think straight.

 

“Not like up there,” he says, pointing up to the heavens, to the vastness of space beyond the atmosphere.

 

She smiles. She never felt confined on the Falcon, not with the stars out her window. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

 

“So. Low altitude dogfights and stick fighting. You have any other fun hobbies on Jakku? Bantha wrestling, perhaps?”

 

“The stick fighting wasn’t always for _fun_ ,” she says.

 

He nods slowly, his grin fading, like he gets what she’s saying. But he doesn’t patronize her by doing something silly like apologizing for the hardships she endured, things he holds no blame for. “You ever spar with a partner?” he asks.

 

“No, I just beat up people who were trying to steal my stuff.”

 

He nods again, his grin returning, and then he crouches down briefly, grabbing something off the ground near his rubber-soled training shoes. It’s a stick – a tree branch, not as long as her staff but the same thickness, a little crooked but very comparable to what she’s holding. He cracks off a stray leafy twig.

 

Her heart starts to race again and her tummy squirms at the prospect of what he’s silently suggesting. “You trying to steal something from me, Commander Solo?” she asks.

 

“Nothing you don’t want to give me, sweetheart,” he answers, hefting the stick like she had done with her staff, feeling the weight and balance. She watches his muscles shift and bunch. He presses the stick against his thigh, trying to bend it, testing the strength.

 

When he seems satisfied, she raises her staff in both hands, holding it parallel to the ground, shifting her stance and planting her feet, getting ready. He steps closer and does the same, mimicking her posture, his eyes glinting.

 

“Show me what you got,” he says.

 

Annoyance flares – hadn’t he just been watching her, seeing what she’s got? _Fine_. She’ll show him. She’s gonna smash that stupid stick into sawdust.

 

She lets fly, charging straight at him, shouting out again, a battle cry. He raises his stick and their weapons connect with a crash. The wood holds, though, and she pushes against it, trying to push him off balance, and he pushes against her metal and plastic staff, easily holding her back. She can’t move a mountain and the mountain’s got her leaning backwards now, about to lose her balance.

 

She bares her teeth at him, aggravated, and spins away, out of that. She swings around, aiming her stick right at his head, but he’s there, blocking it, and strikes back at her. But she blocks that, too, and they trade a sudden flurry of blows – _left right left right left right left right_ – their weapons clacking together in the quiet clearing.

 

She feels a surge of hot aggression and throws everything she’s got at him, not holding back, not “sparring” but out for blood. But he keeps up with her and seems out for her blood, too, the same aggression in his face. Striking and blocking, thrusting and parrying, whirling and twisting, sweating and grunting, they connect again and again and again, moving together around the grassy meadow, the dew drying up beneath their feet.

 

She finds herself in that clear, calm, connected place again, like she’s watching them from outside herself, feeling her every muscle work – and _his_ every muscle, too, like she knows what his next move will be before he’s made it. But, still, he’s keeping up with her, anticipating and matching her next move, never caught off guard.

 

They could go on like this all day, she thinks. The thought is appealing. She’d like that.

 

But then he smirks and she _really_ wants to knock that smug look off his pretty face.

 

Luckily, life on Jakku taught her something besides loneliness and hunger. It taught her how to fight dirty.

 

So when he strikes out next, she knows where he’s aiming and deliberately misses the block, lets him hit her.

 

The end of his stick catches her arm high, smacking hard against her deltoid, the blow absorbed a bit by the dense muscle there but making a satisfyingly sharp, fleshy sound. She’s not saying it feels _good_ – he’s incredibly strong – but she’s had worse.

 

He freezes, cold dread and shock filling his face. “ _Shit_!” He tosses his stick away. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry--“

 

She quickly spins around behind him, sweeping her staff low, connecting with the backs of the knees and taking his legs out from under him. He lands flat on his back, stunned, and she pounces, jumping on top of him, straddling his naked chest and pressing her staff hard across his collarbone and shoulders, pinning him there.

 

She smiles, victorious, breathing hard and dripping sweat on him. He’s breathing hard, too – she can feel his chest expanding and contracting between her spread thighs. She can feel the thudding of his heart against her crotch. He’s hotter than a reactor core between her legs.

 

He grins up at her, his dark eyes sparkling, devilish. “That was very dirty.”

 

She shrugs. “Never underestimate your opponent, Commander,” she advises.

 

And then she’s suddenly moving through the air, going ass over tits and landing hard on her back in the grass. He just flipped her over his head, the bastard! And now _he’s_ on top of _her_ , his thighs straddling her belly, pinning her arms above her head with her own damn staff!

 

She struggles and grunts beneath him, annoyed and embarrassed. She should’ve seen that coming.

 

He leans over her, keeping her pinned. She feels the tips of her breasts brush against his bare chest. “Always finish off your opponent, sweetheart,” he says roughly, his breath lightly touching her sweaty face. “Or they’ll finish off _you_.”

 

She struggles against his hold again, but it’s fruitless – he’s got her good. She stops struggling but doesn’t – _won’t_ – admit defeat, instead glaring up at him in what she hopes is a ferocious manner.

 

The truth is, however, that her whole body is buzzing in a pleasant way, adrenaline and the unparalleled thrill of a good, hard fight with a worthy opponent coursing through her. This was far, far, far better than besting some nasty scav trying to steal her rations. This was... _dancing_. Dancing with the perfect partner, matched and synchronized in every respect. She’d very much like to do this again with him some time.

 

A drop of his sweat falls on her lips. She licks it away instinctively. Salty, _mmm_... He tastes good.

 

She suddenly starts to feel like she wants...needs... _something_. It’s filling her, she doesn’t know from where, and becoming almost overwhelming, this mindless need.

 

It feels like the few times on Jakku when she dreamed of something far more _pleasant_ than falling to her death, searching hopelessly for food, or being abandoned again by her parents. She’d wake up squirming, a good sort of ache between her legs, and would rub her thighs together until the achy feeling faded. She feels like that now and squirms helplessly under him, shifting her hips around and grunting in frustration.

 

And then he’s quickly standing up, getting to his feet and stepping aside, freeing her. He towers over her and she can’t read his face against the bright sky above. She’s immediately mortified, coming back to her senses – cripes, what the hell was she just _doing_? Dear lord, what he must think of her.

 

“We should head back,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” she says.

 

He reaches down and easily hauls her up, getting her on her feet. He keeps her close, touching her arm, lightly brushing his thumb over the place where he hit her. “Did I hurt you, Rey?” he asks seriously, gently.

 

She shakes her head, blinking up at him. “No.”

 

He nods once and lets her go, stepping away to pick up her staff. He hands it to her and says, “Come on.”

 

He lumbers toward the trees and she follows on wobbly legs. She uses her staff to keep her steps steady.

 

***

 

She stands under the shower, enjoying the feel of all this water, enjoying the solitude of this little cubicle. She still feels shaky, her body still wound tight. She went outside to escape and decompress in the first place, but after all _that_...

 

She can’t help but think of his body, how he looked before her and felt underneath her and on top of her. She tries to imagine what it would be like to have all that hard, bare skin against her own wet, bare skin here in the shower. She tries to imagine him here, his huge hands touching her gently, like he had in the clearing.

 

She starts to almost _feel_ it now, like he’s really here. Looming over her, his huge body so very close and pumping out so much heat. She groans, biting her lip – it feels so _real_. And that _need_ surges back again, strong, growing.

 

She reckons she can feel his big, gentle fingers on the growing bruise on her arm, like an apology. _I’m sorry_. Then she reckons she feels his hands sliding down her arms, to her wrists. Taking hold, lifting, pinning them above her head like he had in the clearing.

 

She feels one big hand keeping her arms pinned to the tiled wall. His other hand explores. Gentle fingers on her cheek. And then sliding down her neck. Down to her breast. Gently rubbing her hard nipple. Making her want more.

 

Then sliding down her quivering belly. Lower still. Making her nervous. His fingers combing through the coarse hair down there. Sliding between her legs. Making her blush all over.

 

Brushing against her most private, sensitive area. Stroking her there. Teasing her. Making her squirm and need _more more please_.

 

Rubbing. Firmer now. Making her feel wet but not from the running water.

 

Sliding inside. Making her gasp.

 

Filling her. Moving inside. Stretching her. Working her. Making her body hum and tighten. Making her groan and groan.

 

Faster now. Making something grow. It builds. Builds and builds and _builds_. Making her crazy, desperate, plead. Please... _please_...

 

_Come for me._

 

Rubbing hard. Yes yes yes _yes_ \--

 

Flying over the cliff edge into space.

 

Filled up with such _pleasure_.

 

Such release.

 

Such light.

 

Such completion.

 

_You’re amazing, sweetheart._

 

***

 

Cool water beats against her hot skin. Her heart thuds like she’s been running. She throbs all over and blinks the stars from her eyes. She’s lightheaded and confused and dazed. She’s never done anything like that. Or _felt_ anything like that. Her fingers tingle sharply – her hands, still held above her head, are starting to fall asleep. She slides her arms down the cool tiles.

 

If just _imagining_ him touching her is so...so...

 

She sighs heavily, feeling disappointingly alone.

 

It was so vivid. She decides she wants _more_. That’s probably asking too much, but she can’t help it.

 

She wants to ask him to spar with her again. And then maybe she could get him to touch her like that for real, there in the clearing where it’s private. The very idea fills her with butterflies. She’s got to work up the nerve first.

 

 

 

TBC


	4. The Hired Help

She doesn’t see Ben Solo around the base in the days after. He doesn’t come around the Falcon, which is almost fixed now. He isn’t in the canteen when she is. She ventures into the training room once or twice – no dice. He’s probably off somewhere brushing his hair.

 

She even asks Han, _very casually_ , where his son’s been lately. “Oh, he’s around. I had breakfast with him this morning. Why do you ask?” She certainly doesn’t answer _that_ , just shrugs.

 

She gets that _feeling_ once – that sense that he’s near, the pull of his magnetism – but when she looks, she doesn’t see him.

 

Then she gets an idea. And feels dumb for not having thought of it sooner.

 

She goes back to the clearing one morning with her staff. Same time she did last time, same path through the jungle, same part of the meadow. Maybe he’ll be out for a run again. Maybe he goes for a run every morning.

 

She starts practicing with her staff and hopes he’ll appear like before.

 

She practices out in that damn clearing for two hours. No Ben Solo.

 

She’s mosquito-bitten and drenched in sweat when she gets back to the base. She drags herself towards her quarters to grab her washing liquid and some clean clothes before heading to the showers.

 

But then she stops, feeling him near. She turns around and looks back the way she’s just come and there he is, resplendent as usual, wearing the orange zip-front jacket she’s stared at for so long. He’s striding toward the corridor that leads down to the canteen – breakfast is being served by now, she knows.

 

She smiles, excited to see him, forgetting her nervousness and bug-bites. She’s about to call out to him when his gait slows a little and he looks her way, directly at her. She raises her hand in greeting.

 

His eyes get wide and he reminds her of a startled cattail deer. Then he quickly looks away and keeps on walking, disappearing down the corridor.

 

She stands there, her hand falling to her side, stunned and confused – like she’s just been slapped.

 

Tears spring to her eyes and she feels fucking _stupid_ because now it’s so very obvious, isn’t it? He’s been avoiding her _on purpose_. And she has no idea why.

 

Actually – yes she does. It’s because she’s a big _nobody_. A desert rat from nowhere, from nobody, from nothing.

 

She spins on her heel and resumes her path, hurrying, her head down, not wanting to get caught crying in public.

 

She silently berates and curses herself, anger bubbling up. She’s angry at herself. When he found her in that clearing the other morning, her gut said _run_. And she ignored it. Mistake. It’s _always_ been a mistake to ignore her gut and she knew that and ignored it anyway. For some _man_. She’s such a little fool.

 

***

 

She throws herself into finishing the repairs on the Falcon. She wants to get out of this place and back to bouncing around the galaxy having adventures. She wants to get away from this base, away from this planet, away from Ben Solo. Away from being a fool. She’s _not_ a fool and never has been – she would’ve died a long time ago in the middle of the desert if she were. Ben Solo makes her one.

 

She finishes the repairs and reports to Han. “Great work, kid,” Han says, clapping her on the shoulder. “Perfect timing.”

 

She couldn’t agree more. “So where to next, boss?”

 

“We’ll take her for a test run, make sure it’s ship-shape, and then...” He glances around and leans a little closer, saying conspiratorially, “And then we’re off on a special mission.”

 

Well that sounds promising.

 

After the test run – which goes flawlessly, thank you very much – Han tells her to be ready to leave in the morning. So that night, she packs her things into her old sack, the one she brought from Jakku. But she owns a few more things than she did when she left Jakku – some clothes, toiletries, a mirror, a music player, even her own datapad.

 

Her bunkmates seem sad when she tells them she’s leaving. “We’ll miss you, Rey,” Rose says, giving her a hug. It makes her quite emotional, really. She’s never had friends to miss her.

 

“Where you headed to, then, sweetie?” Leslie asks.

 

“Secret mission,” she says, almost finished packing, getting the last of her things together.

 

“Aw, come on, don’t leave us hanging!”

 

“Sorry, it’s _secret,_ ” she says, grinning. She sure as hell doesn’t know – better to leave them with an air of mystery.

 

She bends down and reaches into the bottom of the footlocker by her bed for the last thing in there – her tatty old sun-bleached tunic.

 

Something slips out of the tunic and flutters down. Her grin fades. It’s the recruitment flier she was carrying around. Ben Solo, fighter pilot, grins up at her from the bottom of the footlocker. She looks at it for a long moment. She shuts the lid on the locker, leaving it there.

 

***

 

In the morning, she gets onto the Falcon early and does all the pre-flight checks first thing. Han and Chewie won’t be around for another half hour, she knows, but anything she can do to speed up departure, she’ll do it.

 

Checks done, she puts her stuff back where it belongs – in the drawers under her bed in her tiny quarters. She’s so relieved to be heading out today for who knows where to do who knows what. She’s excited to see new worlds and new people and get back to being herself.

 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Ben Solo says behind her.

 

She whirls around, startled. She’d been too preoccupied to feel his presence coming, it seems – or maybe she’s just finally free of his thrall – but here he is, standing in the doorway to her quarters, looking like the devil himself in dark cargo trousers and a gray tank top that shows off far too much of his chiseled, hard, smooth--

 

_Dammit_. Stop that!

 

She eyes him, wondering what he’s doing here. “I haven’t seen your father. He might still be saying goodbye to your mother,” she tells him flatly.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We’re off today,” she says, not bothering to explain more than that.

 

Ben gives her a funny look. “Well, yeah,” he says like it’s obvious.

 

“So he’s saying goodbye,” she repeats. Like it’s obvious.

 

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Ben draws out, nodding sagely. “Dad didn’t tell you.”

 

Her annoyance flares hot. “Didn’t tell me what?”

 

“What this is all about.”

 

“No. He didn’t.” She really wishes he had. “ _Somebody_ bloody well better,” she adds testily.

 

He grins slightly at that. “Mom and dad and I are going to a top-secret fundraiser for the Resistance. It’s at a casino resort in Canto Bight.”

 

“Oh.” Her stomach sinks. No adventures, then. And no escaping Ben Solo. She tries not to sigh out loud and give away her frustration. She looks down at her small collection of stuff, freshly put away in the drawer. “You’ll want your room back, then.”

 

“No, no, no,” he says immediately, waving his hand. “I just turned left instead of right down the corridor. Old habit.”

 

“It’s fine, I’m happy to move--”

 

“Rey,” he says. “It’s your room.”

 

Whether he knows it or not, he hurt her feelings quite badly, so she doesn’t want him to be _nice_ and _accommodating_ , but what’s the point in arguing? Just for the principle of the thing? “Okay.” And then she adds, a little gruffly, “Thanks.”

 

He’s turning away, leaving, but then he stops and looks at her again. “I owe you an explanation,” he says, but she’s not sure what he means at first. “Why I haven’t been around much lately. Why I, uh--“

 

“You don’t owe me anything, Commander Solo,” she says, cutting him off quickly.

 

Part of her definitely wants an explanation. But the other part means what she’s just said. What is she to him, or he to her, _really_? She let herself become obsessed with him and dreamed up some connection with him that didn’t exist. But in truth, she doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know what his role is as a commander in the Resistance, his responsibilities, his secret missions (obviously), his private stress. His private relationships. A man like this being unattached, available, willing – what was she bloody _thinking_? He’s a real person, flawed and human and red-blooded – not some idealized construct sitting on a shelf.

 

Beyond all that, however, she doesn’t want an explanation from him because she wants to keep him at arm’s length from now on. It’s safer for her. He’s the sun and she stood too close and got burned. No more of that.

 

It seems like he still wants to explain or say something else, though. But he says, quietly, “I’ll leave you to it, then,” and leaves. She can hear his boots on the metal grating as he walks away, growing fainter as he heads for the bow of the Falcon.

 

She kicks her drawer shut, frustrated. She feels bad now, dammit. As though _she’s_ hurt _his_ feelings. Ugh, she just can’t escape, can she?

 

***

 

Canto Bight, it turns out, is in the same sector of the galaxy and by rights shouldn’t take them that long to get there. However, Han, in all his wisdom, decides to set a very circuitous route in order to protect the location of the base on D’Qar. Rey isn’t sure why, since no one can track them in light speed anyway. Probably something else she’s not being told.

 

She does her best to keep herself scarce, going below decks to reorganize the hold that doesn’t need reorganizing and meticulously checking all the solders on the warp vortex stabilizer control panels. You never know when something might need re-soldering, after all.

 

But no matter how deeply she crawls into the bowels of the ship, she can still feel Ben’s presence everywhere.

 

She does end up eating dinner with him, his parents, and Chewie, however, all of them squeezed into the banquette around the table in the common area. She makes sure she’s not seated next to Ben, though.

 

“Rey, I think you gathered this already, but Ben practically grew up here on the Falcon,” Leia tells her during dinner. “The four of us were a bit of a traveling band when Ben was a baby.”

 

“That’s right,” Han chimes in. “Roly-poly baby Ben running around here in his poopy diapers.”

 

Big strong baby Ben suddenly coughs, almost spraying them all with caf. “ _Dad!_ ” he chokes out in protest, his eyes darting her way. He’s going red but not from choking, she doesn’t think.

 

Han helpfully whacks Ben on the back. “You all right there, son?” he asks and doesn’t wait for an answer, going on with, “He had this bin absolutely _full_ of toys, but what did he play with most? An old length of plastic pipe. He’d wave that thing around like a holy terror, whacking everybody in the balls playing Jedi master. Remember that, kid?”

 

“I remember,” Ben says.

 

She catches Ben look at her again, something odd in his expression – she’s not sure what. But she catches the same look on Leia’s face, too. Like they’re gauging her reaction. She’s not sure why. So she smiles mildly and says, “A Jedi master, huh? Just like Luke Skywalker.” She chuckles a little, imagining baby Ben in his father’s robe, flailing away, pretending to be a mythical, magical folk hero.

 

“Luke Skywalker is mom’s twin brother,” Ben tells her measuredly.

 

She chuckles again. But then sees them all looking at her and realizes he’s not joking. “Huh?”

 

“He’s my twin,” Leia says.

 

“My uncle,” Ben adds.

 

“My brother-in-law,” Han adds.

 

Chewie bellows something she doesn’t quite catch. What, is Luke Skywalker his cousin or something?

 

“Luke Skywalker is your... I thought he was a--a bloody _myth_!” she says, trying to process all this.

 

Four heads shake no.

 

“Jedis are _real_?”

 

Four heads nod yes.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

Four heads shake no.

 

She stares at them. “A general princess, a war hero prince, two outlaw legends, and a Jedi master.” She glances around and behind herself theatrically, like she’s just realized she’s in the wrong spaceship. “What am _I_ doing here?”

 

Chewie and Han laugh, and Han gives her a light punch on the shoulder. But Ben and Leia are still giving her a strange look she doesn’t understand. But then Leia reaches across Han to lay her hand on Rey’s, giving it a little squeeze.

 

“You’re one of us now, dear,” Leia tells her.

 

Well she _isn’t_. She’s the hired help. But the kindness of the gesture and the words from this very important woman move her deeply. And just for the briefest moment, she knows how it might feel to have a mother.

 

She has to work hard not to cry into her rehydrated stew right here in front of them all.

 

***

 

She can’t sleep and she knows why. Not even watching the stars out her window is distracting her tonight. She keeps touching the starship decals he put here. She can feel his presence like a blanket. It’s tearing her in two – she wants nothing more than to be near him, and, at the same time, wants to shoot herself into deep space in an escape pod.

 

She sighs and kicks off her covers, irritated. She gets out of bed and goes into the corridor, heading for the common area, wanting a cup of water. She’s still amazed by the amount of cold water so readily available in the civilized world. Water was _never_ cold on Jakku, not even cool – just hot as piss. Maybe she’ll get a protein bar while she’s at it. And she could look in the forward hold while she’s up – she might find something in there to whittle.

 

But then – because why _wouldn’t_ he be literally and figuratively everywhere – she finds Ben in the common area. Sleeping. In nothing but tight black undies. Of course.

 

She’s so dumb. There are no spare private quarters, she realizes now. Not unless he shares a bunk with Chewie. And that...wouldn’t work at all. Chewie by himself barely fits in a bed. So Ben’s wedged into the oval bunk set into the bulkhead. It’s too short for him and his long legs are jammed up against the wall at funny angles, his feet higher than his head. But he seems comfortable enough, his chest rising and falling slowly with his light snores.

 

Cripes, those undies are tight. And short.

 

His wide, delightfully fleshy pecs would make quite a good pillow.

 

She could curl up in there – the bunk is short but wide enough for two, nearly.

 

It’s chilly but his blanket is on the floor. He radiates heat, she remembers. Nice and toasty.

 

_Abort! Abort!_

 

She turns on her heel and starts back the way she came, trying to keep her bare feet quiet on the decking.

 

“Rey.”

 

She freezes. Damn it all. She turns around again to face him. He’s awake now, of course, pushing himself up on his elbow.

 

“Did you want something?” he asks.

 

Undies. “Just--just some water. I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

 

He’s unwedging himself from the bunk, pushing his long hair out of his face, and getting up. Dear sweet lord, those undies don’t leave much to the imagination, do they? “I’ll get you some,” he says.

 

She lurches forward, stubbing her toe on the corner of the banquette. “No, no, I can get it--“

 

But he’s already lumbering over to the water dispensing unit and filling a glass. “I want some, too. I was dreaming I was in the desert. Was that you?”

 

Undies. Undies. “What?”

 

He grunts. “I meant--“ He clears his throat and shakes his head, fills a second glass. “I just meant, do you ever dream of Jakku?”

 

Undies undies undies. “Sometimes.”

 

He starts to turn from the dispenser and she quickly tears her gaze off his lovely ass. He doesn’t hand her one of the water glasses, though. Instead he sets them on the table and sits down at the banquette. “Were you dreaming of it tonight?” he asks.

 

“Uh, no. I couldn’t sleep.” She hesitates. She should take her glass and go back to her quarters. Instead she sits down, too. “What were you doing in the desert?” she ventures, taking her glass.

 

He frowns, like he’s trying to remember, and pulls his hand through his hair. Ohh, she really wishes he wouldn’t do that. “I dunno. All I remember is the sun. And endless sand.”

 

She sips her water. Nice and cold. “I usually dream of dying there.” He looks at her. But she doesn't see pity or sadness or surprise in his face. He’s just...listening. It makes her want to say more. “I never feel quite so alone as I do in those dreams.”

 

“Were you very lonely on Jakku?”

 

She makes figures in the condensation on her cold glass, avoiding his gaze. She shrugs. “I guess.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re not alone,” he says finally. “Not anymore.”

 

She isn’t sure what to say to that. She’s reminded of what his mother said a few hours ago and feels that same rising emotion, that same sense of...family-ness. It almost _hurts_ , it’s so wonderful. She tries to swallow the stone in her throat.

 

“Sometimes--” She chokes on the stone. She sips her water and tries again. “Sometimes I dream of an island. Even on Jakku, even before I’d ever seen one in person or seen an ocean, I dreamed of a rocky island in a vast, empty sea.”

 

“And what’s on the island?”

 

“I’m not sure, I can never get to it. There’s something I’m looking for there, but I don’t know what. And it scares me, too.”

 

He nods slowly. But then grins a little. “How can _anything_ scare you, Just Rey?” he asks, his voice soft and low and like something warm in her belly on a cold night.

 

_Dammit dammit dammit_.

 

“Lots of things scare me,” she says vaguely. _You scare me_ , she doesn’t say.

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

“What could possibly frighten you, Commander?” she asks, echoing his words.

 

His dark gaze is so intent on her and he smiles faintly, sadly, and she suddenly feels _such_ longing. It floods through her from out of nowhere and makes her shiver with its intensity.

 

But Ben doesn’t answer, he just leans forward, reaching across the table toward her. But he doesn’t touch her. Instead he taps a glowing blue button within the tabletop and a checkered playing board spreads across the table with several holographic figures hovering above it. “You know how to play dejarik?” he asks.

 

She nods. “Your father and Chewie wanted to teach me, but I already knew. I had a two-dimensional version on my flight simulator.” He gives her a funny look. “It wasn’t only a flight simulator. It had language programs and schematics, games, all sorts of things.”

 

“And you built all that?”

 

“I had a lot of time on my hands.”

 

He nods. He’s still leaning forward, his hand still in front of her. He taps the table a couple times, like he wants to make sure she’s paying attention to what he’s about to say, as if he doesn’t already have _all_ of her attention. “Your life on Jakku... Well I don’t know how a person could survive in that place, to be honest. It would chew up and spit out anyone. But you? It made you strong. And brave. Resourceful and remarkable and fierce. It made you a warrior.”

 

She looks down at her hands in her lap. She doesn’t feel fierce and strong and brave. Overwhelmed and awed and weepy, more like. How the hell is she supposed to keep him at arm’s length when he says things like _that_?

 

“I know you feel like...like you have no place in this story,” he goes on gently. “But that’s not true. You’re far, far more important than you know.”

 

She wants to scoff but she can tell he means it – _believes_ it. “How do you know?” she whispers.

 

He’s quite a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to answer that. “I can just feel it,” he murmurs finally.

 

She wants to believe him. She wants to see in herself whatever he’s seeing. She wants to feel as sure about herself as he seems to be.

 

She lifts her hand from her lap, reaching for his hand. But the movement makes one of the little holographic figures on the table react, swatting his big club at her fingers. She yanks her hand away, startled, but of course the hologram wafts right through her flesh. Ben laughs. She laughs, too, a little embarrassed.

 

But the moment is broken now. He’s sitting back and asking, “So if my father didn’t teach you how to play dejarik, did he at least teach you how to _cheat_ at it?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“That’s lucky. He taught me the same thing.”

 

***

 

She doesn’t find anything to whittle. And she doesn’t go back to bed. Instead they sit up together talking about this and that and nothing in particular while trying to out-cheat each other at a silly board game. Both of them play dirty and it reminds her of their stick-fight – unapologetically competitive and vicious. She _loves_ it.

 

And she loves the little moles scattered like stars across his big, sexy body.

 

And she loves his crooked teeth when he laughs or smiles but forgets to keep his lips together.

 

And she loves his big ears when he pushes his hair back and forgets to keep them covered.

 

And she forgets to find the strength or the will or the desire to cling onto her hurt feelings any longer.

 

 

 

 

 

TBC


	5. The Makeover

She wakes to beeping. She blinks open her eyes, confused. It’s her alarm, the one she sets on the Falcon since there’s no sunrise across the dunes in hyperspace. All that is familiar enough. What’s confusing for a moment is how she got here, back to her quarters, back to her bed and under her blanket. Did she dream that, sitting up with Ben all night?

 

No, no, it happened. No, she remembers now – they eventually got bored with the board game, because neither of them could bloody _win_ , and just talked a good deal longer until her eyes wouldn’t keep themselves open, his soft voice like a pair of gentle arms rocking her to sleep.

 

And then strong, gentle arms really _were_ cradling her – Ben had scooped her up and was carrying her down the corridor to her quarters.

 

She shivers at the memory of it.

 

She was half-asleep at the time but the warmth and softness of his skin, the strength of his arms, the hardness of his body against hers and under her hands, his clean and spicy smell – she’d just wanted to burrow closer and closer against him and never let go.

 

But now she feels mortified because she thinks when he finally laid her down on her bed, she’d kept her arms around his neck, keeping him close, and sleepily mumbled something along the lines of, “Your bunk’s too short, sleep here with me.”

 

Cripes almighty.

 

Did she really _say_ _that_?

 

She thinks so because she’s pretty sure he’d murmured something like, “I want to, sweetheart. But I can’t, I’m sorry.”

 

_Holy bantha shit_ – did _he_ really say _that_?!

 

She’s pretty sure he did. Good heavens, he said that. And she’s pretty sure he kissed her forehead after that and tucked her blankets up under her chin. Then she must’ve fallen asleep.

 

She’s never been kissed before, not even on the forehead. She’s never been tucked in before. If her parents ever did either thing, she certainly doesn’t remember. That would make her sad except that Ben’s voice is echoing in her head right now.

 

_I want to, sweetheart_.

 

He wanted to. He wanted to sleep with her.

 

Did he really mean that? Really and truly?

 

Why _couldn’t_ he, then? What did he mean by that?

 

Because he really does have a lover somewhere? Why _wouldn’t_ he have one?

 

Why he can’t he just dump that lover and be with her instead?

 

And how will he regard her this morning, in the cold, clear light of day? (What passes for day in space, anyway.)

 

Will he regret saying those things and everything else and ignore her again?

 

Will he think she was... _propositioning_ him last night? She really wasn’t! But she might’ve been!

 

Oh lord. Oh lord.

 

She just wants to stay right here under her covers forever.

 

Her alarm beeps again. She groans and makes herself get up.

 

There’s always the escape pod...

 

***

 

She can smell caf and rehydrated eggs – it makes her tummy rumble. She can hear voices in the common area – Ben’s and his mother’s.

 

“Just be careful,” she hears Leia say.

 

Rey stops outside the common area. She gets the sense this is something she’s not meant to hear.

 

“I know, mom, don’t worry,” Ben answers. “I know how special she is.”

 

Her head feels like it’s suddenly come loose from its moorings, hearing that. Does he...does he mean _her_? No, no, no, that’s not possible. See, this is why you shouldn’t eavesdrop--

 

“Rey _is_ special. And you can be a bit of a heartbreaker, Ben Solo.”

 

“ _Me_? Never.” He sounds just like his father. It would make Rey smile – if she weren’t about to fall down dead.

 

“Mm- _hmm_ ,” Leia hums broadly. “We need her, so just--”

 

“I got it, mom.”

 

“Good.”

 

Through her haze, she hears the rustle of robes and the lighter step of Leia moving away, toward the cockpit. Which means Ben is alone in there. And she’s hovering out here, clutching the bulkhead.

 

Is this “snagging”? Is this what “snagging” someone feels like – _bloody terrifying_?

 

She sucks in a deep breath, trying valiantly to pull herself together. She peels herself off the wall and rounds the corner.

 

There he is, pouring himself a cup of caf. She has no idea what to say right now. She’s glad, sort of, that he’s dressed – a clingy tunic, half-unbuttoned, and thigh-hugging trousers tucked into his high leather boots – but she can’t help picture how he looked last night, nearly naked and strong and hard and pale all over and--

 

He looks up and his whole face lights up like a lantern. It renders her speechless. _More_ speechless. He stares at her with bright eyes and seems a little speechless, too.

 

“Hi,” he says finally, softly.

 

“ _I wasn’t propositioning you last night_ ,” she blurts out suddenly.

 

Oh for fuck’s sake.

 

His face is the very picture of astonishment. He wasn’t expecting _that_. But then he laughs, a cheery sound, nothing mean in it, and it actually makes her feel better. She covers her face. Her face is hot in her hands. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

 

“You are so cute,” he says and now her face is scalding. She isn’t, she’s a moron.

 

She hears his boots on the deck and chances a peek between her fingers. He’s coming closer, stopping just before her and smiling winningly, his eyes twinkling. He takes a sip of his hot caf and then passes his cup to her, like he hasn’t even given it thought, like he does it every day. She takes a sip and it soothes her.

 

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, then adds cheekily, “Even though I wasn’t there?”

 

And _she_ wasn’t expecting _that_. He’s lucky she’d already swallowed her caf because she would’ve sprayed it all over his tunic just now.

 

She blinks up at him. “Why didn’t--” She hesitates. He waits, gazing down at her, his brown eyes so soft. He licks his lips. Her heart is hammering. She’s about to lose her nerve so she just goes for it. “Why couldn’t you stay?” she whispers.

 

She feels that powerful _longing_ again, just like last night, washing over her, and Ben looks at with the exact same sort of longing. “Oh, sweetheart...” he sighs. He seems to be searching for how to answer that. He touches her chin, pinching it lightly and briefly between his big thumb and fingers. She leans closer, stretching up a little to him, but his hand falls away and he says gently, “It’s complicated.”

 

Oh.

 

She gets it.

 

She knew it.

 

She sets his cup down on the table. “You have someone.” She takes a step back from him.

 

“No,” he says immediately, his hands finding her wrists. His hold is light and loose but keeps her where she is, keeps her close. “I don’t. It’s nothing like that, I promise--“

 

The ship shifts and jitters beneath their feet – they’re coming out of lightspeed now – and she hears Han call to them from the cockpit. “Hey, kids, we’re coming into Cantonica, come look!”

 

Ben lets go of her wrists and she looks away, toward the cockpit, sighing. But then he’s touching her chin again, turning her face toward him again, making her look at him. She finds nothing but earnestness in his steady gaze.

 

“There’s so much I need to explain, Rey. And so much to show you. And I will. Very soon. I promise.” His thumb brushes the corner of her mouth and she shivers. “Okay?”

 

She has no idea what any of that could mean, really, but how can she say anything other than yes to this man? “Okay.”

 

“I’m sorry for being so cryptic.”

 

“Make it up to me,” she answers, hopefully sounding bolder than she feels.

 

It makes him grin wickedly and his eyes light up. He glances toward the cockpit briefly – like he’s remembering his mother’s warning to _be careful_ , and like he’s ignoring all the reasons why he _couldn’t_ – and then he leans in. She licks her lips, more than ready to know what his mouth feels like against hers. But his soft lips bypass hers as he leans closer still and murmurs directly into her ear, low and hot, “I will, sweetheart.”

 

***

 

The tall, striking, orange-skinned Twi’lek spa attendant wields her small spatula like a weapon, hot wax dripping off of it.

 

“You want to do _what_?” Rey asks, clutching her thick robe closed tighter.

 

“Remove all the hair from your around your genital area,” the attendant repeats clinically.

 

“I really don’t--why would I--that doesn’t seem--“

 

Okay, the legs were one thing – that hurt. And the underarms were another thing – that hurt even more. But she can sort of understand doing those things because she’s seen many women on base and in her adventures with Han and Chewie who didn’t have hair on their legs or under their arms. None of that was a thing on Jakku, but she’s seen more now. She hasn’t, however, had the opportunity to see a lady’s hairless crotch, so what does she know?

 

“Is it a _normal_ thing to do?” she asks, curious.

 

The attendant shrugs. “Men like it.”

 

“But I’m not a man.”

 

The attendant rolls her eyes. “Men like when women are smooth all over, including around the genitals.”

 

“Like a--a bloody _child_?” she sputters, startled. That is really disturbing. The attendant just shrugs again. “Do women like having it done?”

 

“No, of course not. It hurts terribly and it’s rather humiliating. It’s awful.”

 

Well this is just stupid.

 

When Leia invited her to come along with them to tonight’s fundraiser, Rey was surprised but quickly agreed. Spending more time with Ben in an exciting new place sounded a helluva lot better than sitting alone all night in the Solo family hotel suite, luxurious as it is. What she didn’t know, however, was that attending would require a whole day of _preparation_. She’s been lathered and scrubbed and exfoliated and plucked and masked and moisturized and trimmed and manicured and pedicured and even measured for a new dress that Leia is now arranging. She’s never worn a dress before. And this isn’t even the end of the preparation – there’s a makeup artist and a hair stylist to see yet.

 

It’s all very novel and strange. And, yes, she very much wants to look good for Ben. She wants to impress him and be pretty this evening. She’s usually got engine grease under her fingernails and in her hair and she’s taken to wearing standard-issue coveralls since being on D’Qar. But it would be nice to look a bit fancier for a change, just for tonight.

 

And, yes, she would very much like Ben Solo to see her lady parts one day (soon). And touch them.

 

_However_. Having all the hair ripped off those parts in order to look like prepubescent girl is a bridge too far.

 

And if Ben is the kind of man who would prefer a _child’s_ body? Well that would be very disappointing.

 

“Let’s leave my hair down there where it belongs, please,” she tells the attendant crisply.

 

The Twi’lek eyes her, spatula still raised threateningly. Rey isn’t sure this lady won’t pin her down and do it anyway. Fortunately, she finally puts the spatula back in the pot of wax with an irritated sigh. But then she says, “At least let me wax your mustache.”

 

“I don’t have a mustache!” This lady is a sadist. “I think we’re done here, thank you.”

 

***

 

Leia smiles approvingly. “You look just lovely, my dear. Wonderful.” Leia touches her hair, fluffing the loose waves the hairdresser put into the ends of it. Rey usually wears it pulled back, practical, so having it down is taking some getting used to. “How do you feel?”

 

Like she wants to wash her face, get all this eye stuff and lip stuff off, if she’s honest. “Different,” she admits out loud. “The dress is so very beautiful, Leia. You’ve been far too kind.”

 

“Nonsense. You deserve it.”

 

Well she’s not sure she _deserves_ it, but she appreciates the sentiment. And she actually loves this dress. It’s far more sophisticated and stylish than she is. It’s light pink with some interesting pleats and it flares out a bit, hitting her below the knee. It has a shiny belt and comes across one shoulder, leaving the other bare, and it fits her just perfectly. She feels quite adult in it. But the best part? It has pockets. Perfect for hiding a blaster, if one should want to.

 

“Shall we join the boys, then?”

 

She’s nervous but eager. She nods.

 

She follows Leia toward the door of her bedroom in the suite. The bedroom is another indulgence she probably doesn’t deserve – it’s as big as the room she shared with Leslie, Rose, and Paige on D’Qar. Leia pauses there at the door and says, “No need to be nervous, dear,” and pats her arm reassuringly.

 

When they walk out into the suite’s lounge, her eyes immediately clap upon Ben and she gets even more nervous.

 

She’s not sure what she was expecting, but his all-black suit totally defies it. His pants are snug the way he seems to like, but his tunic is of a thick fabric, fine but almost stiff-looking, and ribbed all over. The shoulders are wide and very structured and the neck high – no chest showing here, that’s for sure. A wide, stiff leather belt crosses his middle tightly and he’s wearing snug black leather gloves, too. He looks handsome and dashing, as usual, but it’s a very formal, severe look, so different. If he weren’t smiling right now, he might come over quite _intimidating_. Almost like a different man.

 

She waits for him to say something, but it’s Han, looking handsome in a navy blue suit and white tunic, who speaks up. “I thought you were in there with Rey,” Han says to his wife, leaning this way and that, looking behind them theatrically. “Where’d she go?”

 

“Oh shut up, you old fart,” Leia scolds playfully, smacking his arm. “She looks great, doesn’t she?”

 

Chewie, in his shiniest bandolier, his fur freshly washed and brushed, gives an agreeable bellow and claps her on the shoulder approvingly.

 

“That’s right, just like a princess,” Han says, agreeing and translating. “You scrub up real nice, kid,” he adds.

 

“Thanks,” she says, self-conscious being the center of attention.

 

Ben is noticeably quiet. Smiling at her as warmly as ever, but saying nothing. She tries not to feel let down. It was his praise she was hoping for most, of course. She smiles back at him, briefly, and tries to shift the attention off her, asking, “Is it time to go, then?”

 

“Yes, indeed,” Leia says, clapping her hands together and looking around. “Now where are my shoes...”

 

“You two kids go down the hall and call the turbolift,” Han instructs her and Ben. “It takes a lifetime and a half to get all the way up here.”

 

Ben gives his father a nod and strides toward the door, saying, “Come on, Just Rey, we have our marching orders.”

 

She shoves her hands into the pockets of her dress, following him to the door and out into the corridor. His strides are long and she can’t keep up in her new shoes, trailing behind. He rounds the corner, disappearing from view, but when she gets around the corner, she runs right into a wall of black-clad man.

 

“Oh!” she yelps. “Sorry--“

 

But Ben’s arm suddenly bands around her waist and he pulls her tight and flush against his hard body, her words cutting off with a surprised gasp, her hands coming to rest on his chest to keep her balance.

 

“You,” he begins fervently, “look so fucking beautiful.”

 

Her whole body thrills at his intense, coarse words and his intense, dark eyes. Her heart is thudding way too hard. “I wasn’t sure if you--if you--”

 

“Yeah I couldn’t really express myself the way I wanted to with my parents standing _right there_ ,” he explains softly, his free hand coming up and one gloved finger lightly tracing her bare shoulder, giving her goosebumps. “Your dress, your hair, your makeup – you’re so incredibly beautiful,” he murmurs, but then adds, low and rough and demanding, “But listen to me, Rey.”

 

She can barely hear him over the thumping in her ears. “I’m listening.”

 

“You’re _always_ beautiful. Not because of a dress and a hairdo and makeup. None of those things matter, actually. You’re always just the _most_ beautiful person. Inside and out. You hear me?”

 

Her fingers clutch at his thick tunic. Tears start to clog up her throat. “Please don’t tease me, Commander,” she begs.

 

“I’m not, sweetheart,” he promises, holding her tighter.

 

She grips his tunic harder, digging in, _so scared_ that none of this is real, that none of this is happening, because it feels like everything she’s ever longed for and waited for - before she knew she was longing for and waiting for this, before she ever knew this man, before she ever knew a life like this could exist.

 

His gloved fingers lightly slide up the side of her neck and he whispers, “Don’t be afraid. I feel it, too.”

 

“You do?”

 

His gloved hand comes up to her cheek, gently cupping it, his thumb stroking her skin. The smooth, butter-soft leather, warm from his skin, feels strange and sexy and...dangerous. Her breath comes faster.

 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. His tongue sneaks out briefly, wetting his soft, wide lips.

 

“Yes,” she says, breathless.

 

And so he leans down and finally closes the distance, his mouth meeting hers. And it’s so gentle and warm and soft and chaste and strange and dizzying. And _real_. Right against her ear, she hears and feels him say, “ _Wow._ ” She couldn’t agree more. But his mouth hasn’t actually left hers, it just presses and parts a little, deepening their kiss. She makes a high-pitched sound in her throat and tries mimicking him, moving her lips on his, but he’s already pulling away a little – _too soon_ , _too soon_ – and saying, “My parents are coming.”

 

She groans, disappointed. She just wants to keep kissing him for another hour or five.

 

“ _Later_ ,” Ben murmurs like a promise, like he’s read her mind.

 

He straightens up, his hands falling away. She can hear Han and Leia’s voices in the corridor, coming closer, about to round the corner. She’s still clutching Ben’s tunic, though, and she gives him a little tug, getting his attention. “ _You’re_ beautiful,” she whispers, hoping he knows she means it the way he meant it. She thinks his smile says he does.

 

She lets go and takes a step back, just as his parents and Chewie come around the corner. The three of them stop in their tracks. And stare at her and Ben. And it’s written all over their faces, even Chewie’s – they know what she and Ben were just doing. Is it really _that_ obvious?

 

“One job! You kids had _one_ job, and you couldn’t even make it to the turbolift button before you sucked face?” Han asks, amusement glinting in his blue eyes.

 

Yes, _that_ obvious.

 

Leia smacks Han’s arm. “ _What_?” Han cries in protest. “It’s called prioritizing.”

 

That humiliation over, the five of them make their way to the turbolift bay, she and Ben trailing their elders just a bit. Her face feels red hot, not just from mortification, but also from the searing, perfect wonder of Ben’s kiss.

 

She glances at him and sees he’s still blushing, too. But smiling. He drifts closer to her side and rests his hand on the small of her back, leading her that way down the corridor and onto the turbolift. Keeping it there on the ride down to the casino level. Keeping it there as they wend their way through the casino toward the banqueting hall. Keeping it there as they enter the hall, entering the party.

 

And when the whole room of beautifully-dressed dignitaries, socialites, and industrialists turns toward their little party upon their entry and begins to applaud... Well, with her surrogate parents, new friends, and her prince by her side, his hand laying claim to her so, she feels every bit the princess Chewie said she was.

 

 

TBC


End file.
